To Dwell in Honor
by highland laurel
Summary: Returning from a meeting of the Five Civilized Tribes Mingo meets a mysterious woman with a secret that could cause his death.
1. Chapter 1

The characters from Daniel Boone the television show belong to 20th Century Fox and FesPar Productions. I only use them for my purposes.

To Dwell in Honor

_No one can acquire honor by doing what is wrong._

_Thomas Jefferson_

Chapter 1

The dappled forest shade was cool upon Mingo's hot, sweaty body. He lay stretched full length upon the damp Kentucky earth, panting. He was acting as messenger from Menewa to the council of the Five Civilized Tribes, now returning to Chota with information for his uncle and the Cherokee council. The land grants given by President Washington were causing concern as new waves of white settlers lapped against traditional Indian hunting grounds.

The white settlements drove away game and altered the land. Relationships between the tribes were also altered. Many wise men among them recognized that in order to give their own people a secure future they needed to put aside old tribal animosities and band together. Mingo's uncle Menewa had been one of the first to recognize that peaceful coexistence was the only chance the native population had to survive. Now other leaders were acknowledging his wisdom and following his lead.

As he lay cooling in the damp leaf litter, Mingo's mind wandered to the similarities between the current conflict and the time of King Arthur. Arthur had been a wise, farsighted ruler. His rejection of the established thinking that might makes right brought England into a peaceful and prosperous time. The fact the king was legendary mattered not at all. The concepts were valid. Mingo lay drifting sleepily as the afternoon faded away.

When he awoke the sunlight was the pale yellow of early evening. Mingo leaped to his feet to gather firewood before darkness made the task impossible. Rapidly he walked through the forest, then dropped the wood near a little stream. He recovered his pack and rifle, constructed a fire ring, and settled into his cozy little camp. As he gnawed a piece of jerky he prepared his coffeepot, then leaned back against a tall sweet gum and allowed his mind to enlarge upon the connection between his time and that of Arthur

Daniel was somewhat like Arthur. Though Mingo had often seen Daniel use force, his first line of attack was with words. The tall frontiersman had gathered a tight circle of friends as support, his own Round Table of sorts. Himself. Yadkin of Carolina. Jericho Jones. Jeremiah. He had advisors like Cincinnatus. He had a queen.

As he thought of Rebecca Boone, Mingo's lips lifted in an affectionate smile. Tall, red-haired, opinionated, forceful, strong. How unlike Guinevere was Rebecca! But there was a softer side of Daniel's wife, which Mingo knew well. Gentle, fun-loving, caring, thoughtful, accepting. Mingo sighed as he thought of Arthur's Guinevere and the disaster she brought to Camelot, simply because she grew to love her husband's favorite knight.

At that thought Mingo sat bolt upright. His mind firmly, very firmly, rejected that similarity. Rebecca Boone would never, ever betray Daniel with one of his friends. Not for any reason, not under any circumstance. As his mind followed that thread he chuckled to himself. He rose and spoke aloud jestingly, his voice filled with humor.

"M'lady Rebecca, I mean Guinevere. How lovely you look tonight!" Mingo made a mock bow into the growing darkness of the forest. Above him two squirrels chattered in annoyance.

"Oh, Lancelot, how handsome you look in the firelight." Mingo made his voice high and soft as his pretense continued, silliness overcoming his usual solemn demeanor.

"My dear Lady, how you flatter your humble servant. May I please be your escort at this year's Maying?" Here Mingo dropped to one knee in pretended supplication, his hands crossed over his heart, his handsome face alight with fun.

A feathery laugh startled him and he nearly fell over in surprise. Hot blood rushed into his cheeks as embarrassment gripped his heart. He scrambled backwards as far as the trees would allow him and grasped his rifle. The soft laugh came again. Then through the trees to his left stepped a woman. Her black hair was braided behind her head and her beaded dress draped her slim body beautifully.

"How gallantly you made your supplication, M'lord," she giggled. "I accept."

"Please forgive me, Miss. I didn't know you were there," Mingo stuttered, his embarrassment plain on his firelit face.

"Rather careless weren't you, Mingo of the Cherokee? As one of Menewa's most trusted messengers I would have thought you'd be more alert."

Her soft criticism made the tall Cherokee even more uncomfortable. She watched his body language and read it perfectly. Once again she laughed softly.

The sound was enchanting. Mingo stole a glance at her figure standing straight and proud before his little campfire. She was small, even for a woman. She was very like his cousin Tekawitha. Chastising himself for his ungentlemanly behavior, embarrassment continuing to flood his face with blushes, he beckoned her to seat herself before the fire.

With perfect grace and displaying no sign of embarrassment herself, she sat. Her large dark eyes gazed into Mingo's face. He could feel the full force of her eyes and shifted uncomfortably. Her lips lifted in a knowing, satisfied smile. She stretched forth her tiny hands to his crackling campfire.

Mingo reached into his pack and brought out a piece of jerky. He extended it to his surprise guest, then offered her a drink from his water bag. She accepted both with dainty grace. As he watched her lips touch his water bag he again shifted on the hard ground, crossing his long legs at the ankles and bending his knees to help dispel the discomfort. He lowered his gaze. As his eyes left the delightful view before him his mind began to ponder her appearance.

A woman, alone in the Kentucky forest at dusk, unarmed? It was very unusual, even for an Indian woman. He had noticed no camp equipment, no knife or other weapon. His eyes flicked to the soles of her moccasins. They showed no recent wear. She had ridden to this remote place in the forest, not walked. Suspicions grew quickly as Mingo's mental prowess exerted itself.

The Indian woman noticed his intense inward gaze. She cleared her throat and sought to distract him. "Not many Cherokee know of King Arthur. You are well educated, are you not? I too was educated far from my people. Tell me about your experiences and I will tell you of mine."

Mingo did not fall into the trap. He raised his eyes to her pretty face and replied. "I was educated in London. Thus I enjoy thinking about the literature of England and the different world governments. It passes the time."

"Aah. Besides the government of King Arthur, which other governments intrigue you?"

On his guard now, Mingo's reply was devoid of any true information. "The governments of all people intrigue me, Miss. May I ask where you were educated? You seem to have received a very good education also."

Her face smoothed into an expression of innocence, but Mingo could see now that there was a hidden purpose behind her child-like behavior. "I was sent by my father to learn the white man's ways. I went to a New Orleans academy years ago with my brother."

"Your brother? So, you were sent to learn the white _woman's_ ways while he learned the white _man's_ ways. Your father is very wise." Mingo's voice held the trace of a taunt.

A spark of anger flashed in her dark eyes before she controlled herself. But Mingo had seen the spark and was on guard now. This woman had been sent to him with a purpose; of this he was now certain. What it was he had no idea. He poured a cup of coffee and extended it to his guest. She shook her head and he leaned comfortably back against the tree behind him and sipped the hot liquid. But his hand rested on his loaded and primed rifle lying close beside his right leg.

It was unlikely that her mission was to kill him. She would use a knife for that purpose and she had none. Besides, his death could easily be accomplished through an ambush. She was after information. But for whom? And why? She was dressed as a Creek but had been educated in New Orleans. She knew who he was, so it was likely that she knew where he had been. The Creeks had been represented at the conference. She probably knew why he was there. Or did she? Was that the information that she sought? Carefully Mingo began to seek his own answers.

In the firelight he carefully looked at her small figure. Her features were well proportioned, her cheeks full and smooth but not high-boned. Her skin was lighter than most Creek people. Her nose was slender and upturned. She had white blood. As the knowledge flooded Mingo's mind his uneasiness grew. He lowered his eyes to prevent her seeing his discoveries.

She had allowed his searching gaze. But when he lowered his eyes she frowned. She gracefully rose and walked to seat herself beside him. He controlled his natural desire to shift away and sat quietly, waiting. Her small hand rested on his forearm warmly.

"Mingo, I don't want you to be suspicious of me. What about me makes you uncomfortable?" Her warm skin emitted a sweet fragrance of strawberries. She continued to sit very close, her body pressed against his arm. Her slender leg was pressed against his. He looked down into her wide dark eyes and saw an offer reflected there. Physically he responded, but his mind clamped down and controlled his body. Coolly he replied.

"Your nearness is making me uncomfortable, and I don't even know your name. It is not customary for two people to love each other before knowing if they are of a suitable clan. This is true for both Cherokee and Creek. So tell me, forest sprite, who are you? Nimue?"

He saw the understanding flash in her dark eyes before she quickly extinguished the flame. She scooted away from his side but he dropped his cup, reached out and grabbed her arm, holding her close beside him. All soft emotion was gone from his eyes as he looked steadily into hers. Seconds passed as defiance beamed from her hard black eyes. Mingo quickly slipped behind her and pulled both arms behind her back before she could bolt.

His voice behind her was harsh. "You know me. What is it that you are trying to discover? Tell me!"

Her laugh was hollow and derisive. "Discover that yourself, you Cherokee breed. Yes, I know you. Traitor! Puppet! Dog! Betrayer of your own people!" Her words dripped with poison and her pretty face was flushed with hatred.

Mingo frowned at her epithets and taunts. Suddenly he knew that he was in grave danger. He kicked the fire apart and pulled her with him as he scrambled into the screen of trees. He felt her fill her lungs with air to scream and quickly placed his left hand over her mouth as his right encircled her ribs and squeezed. She struggled against him, clawing his hands, kicking his legs and pushing against his tall strong body. He wrapped his own long legs around hers and stopped her wild thrashing.

"Stop it! Stop it or I will squeeze harder!"

She continued to struggle against him and he tightened his grip. She bucked for several more seconds, then weakened. Mingo did not fall for her tactic and kept the pressure constant. He could feel her shallow, rapid breath against his hand and her pounding heart through her ribs. All compassion and courtliness was gone, and he sat holding her tightly until she passed into unconsciousness. He allowed her body to slump over as he crawled to his pack and withdrew a length of rope. He tied her tightly to a nearby tree and wrapped his belt around her mouth. Then he laid down a dozen feet away from her and waited.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Late in the night Mingo was aroused by the call of an owl. He came instantly awake and rolled silently several feet to his right. In the faint starlight he could see the woman tied to the tree, her eyes open and searching the dark forest.

He crawled laterally several more feet, then lay flat in a small depression thirty feet from his bait. Hours before he had lain in the little creek, then rolled in the thick layer of forest duff to mask his own sweaty body odor. Now he lay hidden, waiting for her accomplices to show themselves. The night sounds ceased as something moved silently through the trees. Mingo slipped his knife from its sheath inside his boot. With his right hand he grasped his rifle tightly.

A man waded through the forest shadows to the woman's side. Mingo could see the glint of the steel knife blade as he bent to cut the ropes that bound her. Mingo silently leaned his rifle against a nearby tree and shifted his knife. Jumping to his feet, he was behind the man before the warrior could completely turn to defend himself. Mingo moved his body with the other man, his left hand grasping the other man's hair. The pull exposed the other man's throat. Mingo's knife pressed against the Creek's carotid artery.

Stabbing backward with his knife, the other man attempted to embed his knife in Mingo's chest. But the Cherokee slipped to the side and the blade slid off the buckskin of his vest, slitting it but doing little damage to Mingo's body. Mingo pressed his knee in the other warrior's back and pulled on his hair. Ribs cracked ominously.

"Be still, or I will break your back." Mingo's voice was harsh with anger. The other man froze, his back arched painfully over Mingo's knee. Mingo dragged the warrior behind the tree, placing the trunk between himself and the direction the man had come. Pulling hard on the man's hair, Mingo caused the warrior to fall over backwards. Instantly the Cherokee pushed his knee into the other man's chest, allowing all his weight to press down.

Meanwhile the woman was kicking hard against the forest floor, trying to loosen her bonds. Mingo leaned around the tree and whispered in her ear.

"Stop thrashing or I will kill this Creek."

She stopped instantly, the tone of Mingo's voice offering no doubt to his sincerity. He turned his attention to the prone Creek under his knee. The man's knife hand was pinned beneath his body, his breath coming painfully as Mingo's knee continued to press hard. Mingo leaned over and spoke softly.

"Put your other hand behind your back."

When the Creek complied, Mingo indicated that he should roll on the ground. Then Mingo pushed the man's hands between his tight Creek belt and his body. Bending, he raised the other warrior with his left hand while his right kept the knife against the other Indian's throat. As they rounded the tree an arrow whistled through the darkness and embedded itself in the Creek's heart. He crumpled at Mingo's feet.

In a fluid motion Mingo dropped the dead man and cut the woman's bonds. Pulling her behind him, he snatched his rifle and pack. They ran several minutes until they came to the edge of a cut bank. Mingo glanced over the edge, then pushed his captive onto her rear end and shoved her over the edge. He followed seconds later.

They slid and rolled twenty feet down the embankment. Mingo leaped to his feet and grabbed the woman's hand before she could run. He dragged her behind him several more miles, then pushed her under an overhanging rock just as the dawn was lighting the sky.

She lay panting and gasping. Mingo wedged himself beside her in the small space, then turned to look over his shoulder. She was bruised and dirty, her arms scraped from her struggle against the bark of the tree, her dress torn over the left shoulder. The look in her eyes brought compassion from her Cherokee captor.

"He was your brother?"

Tears flooded her eyes as she nodded. Mingo patted her shoulder in sympathy. Then he reached down and pulled his water bag from his pack. He handed it to his captive with a small smile.

"Here, I know you're very thirsty. Drink." She looked steadily at his dirty face as she swallowed a mouthful of water. Tears continued to flood her eyes and trickle down her cheeks. She handed the bag back to him and closed her eyes.

"Give me back my belt before you sleep, please. You'll be more comfortable and so will I."

Silently she untied his belt from behind her head, unwound the length from her neck and handed it to him. Then she sighed deeply, turned her back to him and fell asleep.

In the mid-day heat Mingo slipped from the rock crevice and dropped to the ground, rolling several feet before coming to rest beneath a dozen berry bushes. He listened carefully, then slid backwards farther into the protection of the trees. He slowly stood, stretching his arms above his head and pushing his tall body up onto his toes to stretch his long legs. His joints snapped and popped in relief. He pulled his water bag from his pack and took a long swallow of the warm leathery water. Then he dropped to his knees and crawled to the rock overhang to check on his captive.

He could see that she had rolled onto her back as he vacated the narrow ledge. Her deep regular breathing indicated that she still slept. Mingo scooted back to sit screened by the berry bushes while he waited for her to waken. She would be less of a danger to him if she was rested. As he sat, his mind reviewed the past fifteen hours.

She awoke an hour later and lifted her head. Mingo whistled from the berry screen and she turned her head to look at him. He beckoned and slowly she slid over the rock to sit on the edge. She shook her head and then stood. Mingo slid forward to grab her hand and pull her into the brushy enclosure. She blinked at him and sat. Silently he offered the water bag, and silently she drank.

Mingo leaned close and whispered. "We won't move until dark. I'm sure that your accomplices are hunting us. Are you willing to tell me now why I am being hunted?"

She stared at him and did not respond. He sighed and pursed his lips. "Very well, I'll tell you my theory. It may entertain you and make the time pass more quickly. You are dressed as a Creek but you are at least half white. For some reason you do not wish me to return to Menewa with my report of the council proceedings. I surmise that you do not wish the tribes to unite and accept the American settlers, for some reason yet unknown. You don't wish to kill me, but are trying to gain some knowledge from me. Am I right so far?"

Mingo's black eyebrows lifted in a taunting gesture. The woman's eyes sparkled with anger, but she refused to answer. Mingo saw the expression, nodded and continued. "You called me a traitor, an epithet that has puzzled me for several hours. But I think I may have solved the riddle. I assumed you meant that I was a traitor to my Indian blood for carrying a message of unity with the whites to my Cherokee people.

But just a few moments ago I realized that you may mean I am a traitor to my _white_ blood, in which case a whole other realm of possibilities opens up before me."

Beside him the young woman inadvertently twitched. The small gesture was not lost on Mingo, whose smile grew with the knowledge. She turned her head to hide her eyes, but Mingo had seen the verification of his suspicions in the large brown orbs. He sat hugging his knees as the afternoon slipped toward sunset. Beside him the woman sat silently, her arms hugging her own knees and her back turned to her Cherokee captor.

As the afternoon waned Mingo sat listening to the wildlife around him and pondering his new perspective. There was a missing piece that troubled him, but he couldn't get his mind to grasp it. Over and over he replayed the past eighteen hours in his mind. Suddenly his head snapped up just as the Creek woman beside him turned to face him, a question plain in her eyes.

"Who killed my brother?" The question hung in the air as Mingo stared into her wide brown eyes. The same question had just formed in his mind. Quickly Mingo pulled her down beside him and dragged her after him as he crawled a hundred yards diagonal to their berry thicket. Leaning close, he whispered a question in her ear.

"Can you climb trees?"

She nodded and he whispered again. "That same question just occurred to me. I am going back to check the arrow, if it is still there. Whoever killed your brother may have already removed it." He saw the distress in her eyes and continued. "I will place your brother's body safely in a tree. I will do all that I can. I promise you." He turned to go and then swiveled back to face her again.

"What is your name? I feel awkward trying to evade killers without knowing who is running beside me." His attempt at humor helped to dispel the dark grief that he saw in her eyes. She gave a little smile and replied. "Viviane."

His dark eyebrows rose and his eyes widened in surprise. She nodded. "Yes, the other name for Nimue. My father liked the Latin meaning for the name."

Mingo nodded. "Lively. I can see his reasoning. Now, Nimue, I hope that you realize I won't let you imprison me inside a tree or under a rock." His smile was warm and he patted her shoulder encouragingly.

"I knew that. Unlike Merlin, you don't seem to be senselessly smitten with me."

"I am a cautious man, Viviane. Carelessness can be a fatal flaw."

She nodded and swallowed hard as she thought of her brother. Mingo saw the reflex and patted her shoulder again. "I should return before daybreak. If I don't, run to Chota. It's two days run to the northwest. Menewa will give you shelter."

Viviane nodded again, then reached out and touched Mingo's dirty face. "Be careful. I don't want to be out here alone, facing someone who may kill me. I'm afraid." Her confession strengthened Mingo's resolve and he nodded, looked up at the darkening sky, and gestured to a tall, leafy elm nearby.

"Let me boost you up that tree." He reached down and pulled her to her feet. As they walked he reached into his pack and gave her the remainder of the jerky and his water bag. Then he bent down, cupped her foot in his hand, and tossed her strongly toward the lowest branch. She caught it and pulled herself into the tree. She waved silently and Mingo strode soundlessly into the forest and disappeared from her sight.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The moonless night was very dark as a bank of clouds overlaid the stars. Mingo slowly made his way through the Kentucky forest by feel as much as by sight. He had an uncanny sense of direction. Near midnight he approached the tree where Viviane's brother had died. He could see the body plainly by the light buckskin clothing. The wild animals had fed but not moved the body very far from the place of death.

Mingo crouched low to the ground and placed his feet very carefully. He made no sound as he crept to the body. The arrow was still jutting out of the warrior's chest and he quickly jerked it out. Instantly Mingo retraced his footsteps until he was several hundred yards from the body. He squatted silently for several minutes, waiting to hear any sound that did not belong in the woods around him.

The crickets and tree frogs continued to buzz, so he carefully placed the arrow in the top branches of a nearby thicket and walked back to the man's body. He wound his rope around the other man's chest under his limp arms. Then, finding a low hanging branch on a sweet gum nearby he dragged the body to the base of the tree and climbed.

Safely braced on a branch, Mingo pulled the body into the tree using a nearby branch as a pulley wheel. Then, balancing the limp body carefully, he wedged it into the branches of the tree. He further secured it with his rope, then climbed down, retrieved the arrow, and started back to where Viviane waited.

The dawn was just pinking the sky when Mingo got back to Viviane's tree. He rested and dozed for a few minutes with his back against the tree before he heard her climbing down. He waited until she was safely on the ground and her dress modestly straightened before he opened his eyes.

He held the arrow out for her to see. He had broken the bloody head away from the shaft and held his hand over the stains that remained. The feathers meant nothing to her and she shook her head. Mingo's eyes held hers for several seconds, then he said softly, "This is a Cherokee arrow."

Viviane's eyes widened in horror. "Your own people are trying to kill you? Why?"

Mingo shook his head sadly. "It is possible that someone else is using Cherokee arrows to make it look as if my own people are seeking to end my life. It may be that this arrow was meant for your brother from the start, never for me at all. I don't have an answer for you. I wish that I did."

Beside him Viviane trembled in distress. He reached out and took her hand warmly in his. "Don't be troubled. I know from your response that you had no knowledge of this. I in no way blame you."

She squeezed his hand in return. "Thank you. I wish that I _felt_ innocent."

"Let's have a bit of breakfast and then I'd like you to answer questions for me, if you would."

She looked down into his upturned face. "I'll tell you anything that I can. I want to help you now. And I'm ashamed at the part that I played in this plot."

Mingo smiled and released her hand. She walked out into the woods and he bent to clean the young rabbits that had carelessly stepped into his snares. The forest came alive with birdsong and the two hungry people shared the rabbits, clear spring water and each other's company.

When a break in the conversation occurred Mingo cleared his throat and took a last sip of water. In the bright morning light Viviane looked very small and tired. But he knew that what little knowledge she had may be the key to understanding his present peril. So he began to question her.

"Viviane, who prompted you and your brother to try and capture me? And what was to happen to me upon capture? Ransom?"

She shook her dark head. "No, I don't think so. The men who wanted you captured were from Williamsburg. I think they just didn't want Menewa and the Cherokee to join the other tribes."

Mingo pondered her answer for several minutes. Then he raised his head and fired several questions at Viviane, his voice sharp with anger.

"Were there others employed to capture me besides you and your brother? Did they seek you out or did you seek them? What compensation did these men offer you?"

"I don't know the answers, Mingo. I'm sorry. My brother made all the arrangements."

Mingo's eyebrows rose at her answer. His earlier suspicions had been in error. Her brother was the conspirator, not Viviane. "Why would your brother want the tribes divided?"

Viviane hung her head for several seconds. When she spoke her words were soft and the pain was evident in every syllable. "He was a Creek warrior and wanted to become a leader among them. If the other tribes were divided he thought he would have a better chance to advance himself in battle. When those tribes were broken, he could persuade them to join the Creeks and turn their attention to the white settlements. He would exact his revenge. He believed white settlers deserved no quarter."

"And you? Why did you agree to aid this plot?"

Viviane hung her head and pulled at the beading on her dress. Her voice was very soft. "Unlike my brother, I wanted the white settlers to expand their holdings. I thought if the Creeks could gain more power, the other tribes would be less threat to the settlers. They could focus their defenses against only the Creeks."

"What of the Cherokee? How do I fit into this plan?"

"The Cherokee already have allowed white settlement. You were seen as the key. You guide your uncle Menewa onto this path. As the most powerful nation, you had to be kept neutral. If you did not report, your uncle would be confused and time could be bought."

Viviane's eyes bored into Mingo's as she continued. "You must understand. As a boy in New Orleans my brother was made to feel inferior. His Indian blood was a cause for ridicule and derision. His hair was cut and he was made to dress as white. He was punished for speaking our mother's tongue. My brother learned to wear a false face. His heart was bad. I could do nothing to help him. He thought it weak to learn from a woman." In sorrow Viviane lowered her head as tears trickled down her cheeks.

Unbidden the memory of Taramingo rose in Mingo's mind. How very like his own brother Viviane's brother had been. Sadness washed over him and he closed his eyes in sorrow. Then he opened them and looked into Viviane's face.

"How can I be considered a traitor, Viviane? You called me a traitor. Evidently this is your own opinion. Why do you think me a traitor to my white blood?"

Viviane sighed deeply. Without raising her head she answered his question. "Because in choosing to help the Cherokee and the other Nations, you have crippled your own people. You prevent them from working the land, from making it bloom as it was intended to do, not remain wasted by those who only sit idly upon it."

"You are wrong. By helping my people the Cherokee, I also help my people with white blood. My small effort has helped keep one from killing the other. Both are my people, Viviane. And yours."

Mingo watched Viviane's mind absorb his words. Then he forced his mind to unravel the tangled web of deceit and destruction. Powerful whites wanted the tribes to remain divided in order to facilitate their destruction. By cunning and deceit, by war, by disease, by whatever means possible these heartless men would destroy. By capturing him, by mining his mind of what information they could trick him into giving, they sought to advance their plan. His absence would be keenly felt by Menewa, who depended upon Mingo's experiences with white culture to understand the world in which he found himself. Without the powerful Cherokee the other tribes would quickly splinter, fight among themselves and make themselves vulnerable. Viviane's co-conspirators were correct.

Their lands could then be taken by force as they warred among themselves, a much quicker and more sure means than following the established procedure of applying for and receiving land grants. So beneath the thirst for blood were other ancient sins. The seven deadly sins, Dantes had called them. Lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride. All brought men to destruction in one way or another. Mingo sat with his head bowed under the weight of his understanding.

"Viviane, I must make haste to Chota. I do not like to leave you here alone, but understand me. I must travel hard and fast. Menewa needs me, and those that wish to destroy the Nations will not give up. If I fail, if those who want me dead are successful, this land will run red with the blood of both races. It truly will be Ken-Tuck-E, the dark and bloody ground. Do you wish to try and accompany me or wait for me here? I will return as soon as I am able, but it will be days."

The small woman stood and nodded her head. Mingo bent and extinguished the fire, then gathered his pack and rifle. He glanced once again at Viviane, then turned and began to trot in a ground-eating stride. Behind him Viviane also began to trot, her short legs taking two steps to each one of his. Thus the two mixed bloods set out to prevent the deaths of hundreds, their goal bonding them together as the Kentucky sun poured its heat into the land.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Three hours later Mingo paused to drink from a little stream. He quickly laid down in the water and let the warm flow wash the sweat and dirt from his lean body. His breathing steadied and his heart slowly returned to its resting beat. He rose from the creek and sat under the nearby trees to eat a handful of berries. It was then he remembered Viviane.

He had learned over the course of his life how to compartmentalize memories, thoughts, ideas and emotions. So over the past three hours he had blocked all thoughts of Viviane's plight and allowed his body to work without bothering with troubling thoughts. Now he wondered how far she was behind him.

Creek women, like Cherokee women, learned to survive in the wild but as women they did not harden their bodies in the same way as a warrior hardened his body. Viviane had lived as white for years and her body had grown soft. She was probably miles behind him, and perhaps lost if she could not track him. He had naturally done all he could to hide his trail. A twinge of concern pulled at his heart but he dismissed it, stood, stretched and once again compartmentalized his thoughts as he continued northwestward.

Late in the night he stopped again and climbed a tree to rest for a few hours. He wedged himself between two limbs to sleep. Another two or three hours of travel would bring him to Chota. The first light awoke him four hours later. He climbed down from the tree, stretched, drank from the nearby creek and continued on his way.

The day was still young when he trotted into Chota. He made Menewa aware of his arrival, then washed quickly in the nearby river. Atsila gave him a large bowl of rabbit stew, but he poured most of it back into the pot and only ate a small amount. Too much food would make him sleepy and he knew he needed all his faculties to make Menewa understand the problems facing the experienced leader.

Mingo and his uncle talked for several hours. Then Menewa sent runners to all the tribes to make them aware of the plot. He sent two runners to each of his allies with the hope that one or the other would evade the conspirators and succeed. Then Menewa and Mingo explored the greatest problem: who among the Cherokee were part of the plot?

As Mingo talked with his uncle a door in his mind opened and Viviane stepped forth. He broke off the discussion abruptly and stood. Menewa looked up in surprise as his nephew stepped to the doorway.

"Mingo! Where are you going?"

"The woman who disclosed the plot to me is in danger, uncle. She is following my path, but is far behind me. She needs our help."

Menewa stood and grasped Mingo's arm. "I will send a small party to find her. You must remain here to help me decide our path. Mingo, we must be correct and careful or we will fail. Many of our people will die. Many whites will die. "

Menewa's dark eyes held Mingo's own. Sighing, Mingo nodded in agreement. Menewa stepped outside his lodge to send the party after Viviane. When he stepped back inside his lodge he found Mingo stretched on the floor, deeply asleep. The older man silently backed out of his lodge and sat before the doorway to guard his nephew's slumber. The summer sun traveled in its wide arc and dipped behind the forest to the west before Mingo woke.

The two men spent the night in discussion. They agreed that the Cherokee must prepare for war while energetically pursuing the path of peace. Menewa called a council of war leaders for the following morning, and a council of peace leaders for the following evening. Then he dismissed his nephew. Stumbling with fatigue Mingo fell through his lodge door and sprawled on his own bed. Instantly asleep, he slept until a rising night wind woke him to sit in the darkness, his thoughts whirling like spiraling snowflakes.

Da-lon-ige-to-wadi. The short stocky Cherokee had recently been trapping in the vicinity of the Creek lands to the southeast. He and his brother-in-law Pushta had returned in the spring after selling their furs to a Virginia buyer just west of the mountains. Was this the Cherokee connection to the plot?

Pushta hated white settlers. He also hated Mingo for the role he had played in moving the Highlanders to nearby Squaw Mountain. Carefully Mingo controlled his expression and strode into his uncle's lodge as the sun began its journey over the edge of the forest. There Mingo laid his suspicions at his uncle's feet. The older man heard all his nephew's arguments, then sent him from the lodge as he prepared to investigate Mingo's fears.

A day later Viviane arrived in Chota with her rescue party. The men had taken horses and she rode slumped forward on the animal's withers. She was thin and worn, numb with fatigue. Menewa placed her in his own lodge. Several times a day Atsila woke the girl to feed her small meals before allowing her to drop back into deep sleep.

After two days Viviane was strong enough to lift the bear hide over Menewa's door and wander through the Cherokee village. Atsila had provided a Cherokee woman's clothing, and the thin girl blended in with the Cherokee women. Mingo saw her when he returned from a swim in the river. He strode to where she sat in the shade watching a group of women working on a fresh deer hide.

"It is good to see you safe, Viviane."

She looked up into his face and smiled. "It is good to be safe. I was very frightened, alone in the woods, but I knew I had to keep going. I really had no choice. What have you and your people decided to do?"

Mingo sat beside her and explained briefly. He did not give any details, remembering her role in the bloody plot. He was a careful man. When he finished, she nodded. Her small hand plucked the summer grass aimlessly.

"What will you do now? Return to the Creeks? Or go back to New Orleans?"

He was surprised at the look in her eyes. Indecision showed plainly on her little face.

"I don't know. I really don't. I have never felt completely accepted in either place. I came to the Creeks just this last year because of my brother. Now I must make my own decision. And I don't know how."

Mingo nodded his understanding. "It is hard. But you have time. There is no need to feel rushed. You are welcome here as long as you wish to stay."

Viviane's lips lifted in a small smile. "Thank you. I will set myself a schedule, though, or I will be tempted to stay forever."

Mingo returned her smile. She blushed and ducked her head. Softly she asked him her question. "What clan are you?"

Mingo frowned, then looked away from her bent head. In the silence a teasing smile lifted his wide lips. "Nimue, I am of the Bird Clan."

His reference to the Arthurian legends once again caused Viviane to grin. She entered into his jesting mood and replied in kind. "Then Mingo you, like Merlin, must be brother to the owl."

Mingo laughed softly. "But unlike Merlin, I know the past and not the future."

"The future is by its very nature hidden, Mingo. That is its charm and its danger."

"All the more reason to wish that I was as wise as Merlin's owl!" He smiled into Viviane's pretty eyes. "It is an endless fascination to me that the owl is revered by both us Cherokee and the English. Perhaps people, no matter their land of origin, are more alike than any of us are willing to admit."

In the deep shade Viviane's eyes sparkled in agreement. She nodded her small head and placed her hand on Mingo's smooth arm. Together they sat in the summer shade, their differences enough to keep them apart and their likenesses enough to bring them friendship.


End file.
